Chapter 1 - The Last Half Loaf
Emma Romano pushed the bread toward the old woman and whispered, “You can have mine.”
Adrian Moretti stopped in the doorway with a black envelope in his hand.
A number had been written across its back.
Adrian knew exactly what that number meant.
He slipped the envelope inside his coat before anyone saw it.
Sofia Romano was kneeling beside Mrs. Bellini, the elderly woman who lived across the hall. Between them sat a brown grocery bag containing almost nothing: two potatoes, an onion, a dented can of soup, and half a loaf of bread.
Adrian had followed Emma home because he had seen the toddler leave the Moretti estate with that bag.
Alone.
He had expected to discover carelessness.
Instead, he discovered hunger.
“Sweetheart,” Mrs. Bellini said, staring at the bread Emma was offering, “you eat that.”
Emma shook her head.
“You’re older.”
The old woman blinked.
“So?”
“Mommy says older people need extra taking care of.”
Sofia closed her eyes.
“Emma.”
“But you said that.”
“I know.”
Emma held the bread higher.
Mrs. Bellini finally accepted it.
The little terrier beside her sniffed hopefully.
Emma tore off one more crumb and gave it to the dog.
Adrian watched from the shadow beyond the stairwell.
Three years earlier, men had begun calling him Stone.
They thought it was because he was ruthless.
They were wrong.
It was because after Elena and Claire died, nothing seemed capable of reaching him.
Not grief.
Not fear.
Not affection.
Not guilt.
Then a three-year-old girl gave away her dinner.
And something inside him moved.
Sofia helped Mrs. Bellini back into her apartment before carrying Emma inside their own.
Adrian waited.
Through the narrow opening of the door, he could see their kitchen.
Sofia put the smaller portion of bread on a chipped plate.
Emma climbed onto a chair.
“Mommy?”
“Yes?”
“You eat.”
“I already ate at work.”
Emma stared at her.
Adrian saw the suspicion immediately.
“You did?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
Sofia hesitated.
“Soup.”
“What kind?”
Another pause.
“Tomato.”
Emma frowned.
“You don't like tomato.”
Sofia laughed softly.
Adrian did not.
Because he knew exactly what was happening.
Sofia was lying so her daughter would eat.
Emma apparently knew it too.
The child divided the bread.
Again.
“Then we share.”
“Emma—”
“Daddy said sharing makes things bigger.”
Sofia froze.
The room became silent.
Adrian's attention sharpened.
Sofia sat slowly beside her daughter.
“Your daddy said love gets bigger when you share it.”
“Bread too?”
“No.”
Emma considered this disappointing flaw in the universe.
Then she pushed half toward Sofia anyway.
“Tonight it does.”
Sofia turned her face away.
That was when Adrian saw her cry.
Silently.
Without making a sound.
Exactly as she had cried in his kitchen after begging her landlord for more time.
Adrian stepped backward.
His heel struck a loose board.
Sofia's head snapped toward the door.
“Who's there?”
Adrian disappeared down the stairs before she reached the hallway.
He hated himself for running.
Men ran from him.
He did not run from anyone.
Yet he could not let Sofia see his face.
Not like that.
Outside, cold air hit him.
He reached the Lincoln and sat behind the wheel.
He did not start the engine.
Instead, he removed the black envelope from his coat.
Marcus had given it to him that afternoon.
It contained the preliminary report Adrian had requested on Sofia Romano.
The number 47 referred to an archived Moretti security file.
Adrian opened it.
SOFIA ROMANO.
Age twenty-nine.
Widowed.
Husband: Daniel Romano.
Deceased.
Adrian continued reading.
Daniel had worked as a mechanic.
No criminal history.
One daughter.
Emma.
Then Adrian reached the line that made him stop.
Daniel Romano had died on November 14, three years earlier.
Adrian stared at the date.
November 14.
The same day Elena and Claire had died.
He read faster.
Daniel had been working near Archer Avenue when an explosion occurred.
The official report listed his death as collateral damage from a vehicle bombing.
Adrian's fingers tightened around the paper.
His bombing.
His family had not been the only family destroyed that morning.
He had known there were civilian casualties.
Numbers.
Names on reports.
Compensation payments arranged through lawyers.
But he had never connected those names to faces.
Daniel Romano.
Emma's father.
Sofia's husband.
Adrian looked toward the fifth-floor window.
A weak yellow light glowed behind a thin curtain.
Inside that apartment was a woman scrubbing another man's mansion to pay rent.
Inside was a child watering a dead garden because her father could no longer hear her anywhere else.
And Adrian had unknowingly employed them for four months.
His phone rang.
Marcus.
Adrian answered.
“Tell me everything about Daniel Romano.”
Silence.
Then Marcus said, “Where are you?”
“Cicero.”
Another silence.
Marcus understood immediately.
“You followed the kid?”
“Marcus.”
“All right.”
“Daniel Romano.”
“I was going to talk to you tomorrow.”
“Talk now.”
Marcus exhaled.
“Daniel wasn't supposed to be near the blast.”
“What does that mean?”
“He wasn't just passing through.”
Adrian sat straighter.
“What was he doing?”
“I found a witness.”
“Who?”
“A retired detective. He says Romano had contacted police forty-eight hours before the bombing.”
Adrian's blood went cold.
“About what?”
“He claimed somebody had brought a black Cadillac into his garage.”
Adrian stopped breathing.
The bomb that killed Elena and Claire had been placed beneath a black Cadillac.
“What did he find?”
“The detective wouldn't say over the phone.”
“Where is he?”
“I'll send the address.”
Adrian stared at Sofia's window.
“Marcus.”
“Yeah?”
“Why wasn't this in the original investigation?”
“I don't know.”
That answer frightened Adrian more than anything else Marcus could have said.
Because Adrian's organization had investigated the bombing for three years.
Every camera.
Every witness.
Every rival.
Every rumor.
Yet nobody had ever told him that Daniel Romano had contacted police before the explosion.
Somebody had buried it.
Adrian started the Lincoln.
Before leaving, he looked up once more.
A tiny silhouette appeared behind the curtain.
Emma.
She was holding Daisy.
The toddler pressed the rag doll against the glass.
Adrian wondered whether she could see him.
Then she lifted one tiny hand.
A wave.
Adrian's throat tightened.
He lifted his own hand.
Then his phone buzzed.
Marcus had sent the detective's address.
And one additional message.
Adrian read it twice.
DON'T GO ALONE. SOMEONE ALREADY TRIED TO KILL HIM TONIGHT.
Adrian looked at the apartment building again.
A shadow moved behind Sofia's curtain.
Too tall to be Sofia.
Too broad to be Emma.
Adrian was out of the car before he realized he had moved.
He crossed the street.
Ran through the entrance.
Took the stairs two at a time.
Fifth floor.
Sofia's apartment door stood open.
The kitchen light had gone out.
Adrian reached beneath his coat.
Then a man's voice came from inside.
“Mr. Moretti.”
Adrian stopped.
May you like
The stranger knew his name.
And then Emma screamed.
